After the healthy excursions of yesterday's mountain bike trek, today is a day of R&R. There isn't much on the agenda, except repair my back pack, buy a couple of laundry bags, lift some money, get some new contact lenses, and pick up a pair of wacky green European Championship Irish supporting pants for Paddy. We manage to accomplish everything except for the contact lenses, which you always need to order in. I'm beginning to think I should have got my eyes lasered.

As usual following a day of more faffing, the urge to go out is uncontrollable. We've been good little boys for a couple of days now, but simply noticing the ratio of girls to boys here mean we should have a few drinks, nay, we need to. The evening begins eating at an Argentinian restaurant called Quilombo. I kid you not, it is here that I have the finest steak I've ever eaten in my life. Only open Wednesday to Sunday, if you're coming this way and you're a meat eater then you need to experience this. If you're a vegetarian you can fuck off.

Paddy has somehow managed to start talking to two, ridiculously gorgeous Argentinian girls at a bar a short time later. We might as well continue the theme for the evening. I have no idea how he's managed this, as it surely can't be down to the hideous travel tash monstrosity that is adorning his top lip. Still, all credit is due and soon we're paired off with the lovely ladies and knocking back the beers. They're both heading to the Galapagos Islands, and they both need to be up early in the morning to go rafting. My one is up for staying out, but Paddy's one wants to go to bed because she is tired. I told you it was the mustache.

By this time we've quaffed enough beers to potentially make fools of ourselves as we peck the girls' cheeks goodnight. We're trumped only by a coked up 38 year old Australian who really needs to call is a night. "Where did you guys go?! I've got two massive bags of coke and we're going to get fuuuucked up!" He slobbers in our faces. When he letches onto another girl at the bar, we beat a hasty retreat and search for the scraps from the Banos table.

Long story short, we need to stop buying drinks for people who will never get one back, nor actually spend any time talking to you. This time it's Paddy's turn to make the school boy error, and he produces five rum and cokes for more Argentinians. It's a fruitless but valiant effort and we're forced to settle for the trusty sobering walk home hot dog. Once again I sign into facebook and make a fool of myself when completely inebriated. I apologise if I asked anyone to show me their breasts on webcam.